Dreamcypher
by Dark Closure
Summary: When a war engulfs Usagi's world, the warrior begins to become worried when a mysterious illness begins to infect his people. Afraid for the safety of his people he seeks the help of those he trusts, but can the turtles help before madness consumes him?


Beta-ed by Memna

Dreamcypher

Chapter 1

There had been a war. Nothing special, Usagi was used to wars. His whole life was steeped in the art of fighting; he fought to protect, for his Lord, for his land. But when a war broke over seas he began to worry. His stomach twisted when news began to spread that battle after battle their people won. Yes this was a good thing, but it was also bad. The new lands that the shogunate took were filled with innocent people, people who did not speak their language, and many that did not deserve to be subjected to the cruelties of war.

Soon enough he was sent to the front lines. He did as he was told, charging forth, swords drawn. His blades quickly cut into flesh and bone severing limb from body. Blood blossomed in a fan like spray over the battle field as he focused on nothing but battle. This foreign land, it dipped and stirred and made it difficult for his knowledge to be applied truly. Each thrust of his blade varied greatly due to his ignorance of the fighting style that he was up against. His heart hammered, blood rushing through his ears only to be pushed by the battle cries of his enemies. The world seemed to slow as he shoved his foot up against an enemy knocking him off balance. When the man began to roll over Usagi's shoulders he quickly drove the blade of his kodachi across the neck leaving his vision in a curtain of red. He had to keep his mind about him, keep reality running as fast as he was going. He couldn't afford to slow down.

His dance of blades continued, his trained muscles straining to remain steady with every slice through body. His feet became sore from harsh kicks forcing his enemies to their knees before he would end their life with a snicker snack of metal. And by the time the battle was over, he couldn't feel his lungs. He couldn't heave past the beating of his heart as the wounded laid across the ground calling for help. White fingers strained trying to loosen over hilt of swords as he calmed his breathing. His knuckles ached when he tried to straighten his fingers out, he couldn't remember when he had sheathed his faithful blades. He looked to his once snow colored palms that were stained the color of the darkest cherry.

When did his hands get dirty?

He didn't... something spilled down his brow into his eye. Reaching up he gingerly touched the wet path in his fur. The sting telling him of the wound that needed to be treated.

When did he get hurt?

The wind picked up, wafting heat and smoke into his lungs. Quickly he brought his arm up and over his mouth coughing while trying to see through the thickness. Flakes of ash came down like snow, when he finally allowed the sounds of the world back into his ears. People were screaming in the distance, crying... His eyes stung and watered as more smoke came to him, forcing him to step back. Something hard and soft all at once pressed under his foot bringing his gaze down.

He shook his head.

Blank eyes gazed up, so many pairs around him, staring as if accusing.

iNo./i

So many of them, large and small together.

iNo, this cannot be./i

The smoke was getting denser, creeping over the fallen like a settling fog.

iThis was the battle front not... not.../i

Then something touched him. He jerked, twisting around looking at the familiar face of Tomoe Ame. Her dark eyes were hard and focused, but soft and kind; a familiarity that his mind anchored too. Her hands... when they reached out to touch his shoulder he flinched pulling back. They were like his, dipped in the darkest red.

"Are you alright?" her soft, but firm voice asked.

He did not reply. Soldiers gathered behind her, finding what they needed amongst the dead as others secured them for their travels.

What was going on?

She reached again, putting her hands on his shoulders, "My friend, are you alright? You did not get sick on the battle field again, have you?"

Sick? What did she mean?

Then her hand was on his face, "Usagi?" When he didn't respond she gently pulled him, guiding him away from the bodies that stared, "Come, you are not feeling well. Let us take you to rest."

And as she took him away, he looked over his shoulder, returning the gaze of those who were slain by his hands as the village of innocent people burned.

To Be Continued... 


End file.
